


Shot Through The Heart ( and your too late )

by smiitty



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Blood, Coma, Dark, Drama, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 05:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smiitty/pseuds/smiitty
Summary: John didn't know how to react. He was paralysed, unable to move as he stared directly into the malicious eyes of the man before him, a gun trained on his chest. Directly where his heart would be, in fact.I'm going to die.As if his own moment of clarity wasn't enough, the whole crowd was screaming in terror before him. Dimly, John noticed the three of his friends staring at him in horror from across the stage. Freddie was already taking off, white sneakers flashing as he made a beeline for John.Too lateThe gun went off, and John felt the impact of the bullet tear through his breast-plate as though it were nothing.John felt the million different drops of blood spurt from his body as he crumpled backwards.John felt his impact with the wood paneling if the stage below him, driving what breath he had out of him.Something warm ran down his front. Something hot to the touch when John instantly pressed a hand to his wound, eyes rolling back in agony.The world started to spin, flashes of coloir slowly bleeding away as his mind slipped in unconsciousness."John!" A voice screamed, blending in with the chorus of distant screams.





	1. The Concert

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, my name is Smîtty! This is my first writing, and I honestly dont know what or where this thought came from. Comment down below if I should continue this or not.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> -Smits
> 
> P.S- This takes place in the early 80s, when Queen was already becoming increasingly famous. Note that this may not be historically accurate, using my common knowledge and the power of Wiki.
> 
> Title comes from Bon Jovi's "Shot Through the Heart."

 

 

> The crowd was stunning.
> 
> Thousands, perhaps billions of hands waved back at John as he plastered a toothy smile upon his face. Next to him, Freddie leaned quite heavily into him, and wrapped his arm around Brian and Roger's shoulders.
> 
>  
> 
> "We're finally here, darling." Freddie whispered into his ear, and John squeezed his bare shoulder.
> 
> "I know...it feels unreal." John replied, looking back over the thousands of Queen-crazed people, all clamouring to get a better look at the four men.
> 
> Roger appeared next to him, Brian close behind. The drummer was basically shining.
> 
> "Its fucking amazing, that's what!" The blonde cheered, blue eyes scanning the mass before him.
> 
> They stayed there for what felt like forever, then Brian spoke up. "Well, I'm guessing we leave now?"
> 
> Freddie frowned, "But it feels like we just got here."
> 
> "I know, but just think; its time to celebrate!"
> 
> They all perked up at the idea.
> 
> As the four started to exit the stage, John suddenly felt his heart do a backflip. He had forgotten one of his prized possessions!
> 
> "Blast. I forgot my bass! Hold on..." He turned, ducking back into the spotlight to retrieve it.
> 
> The crowd started to cheer yet again, at his return. John felt another smile brimming at his lips as he waved to them. As he scooped up the instrument, John felt something cold and hard press against his back. He chuckled.
> 
> Freddie sometimes came up behind him, and poked him with the butt if his microphone. A affectionate gesture, often reserved by him from the singer. Among the four, Freddie and John got along the best. Don't get him wrong, he loved Brain and Roger, and he was pretty sure they loved him back. But... Freddie's touches felt more intimate, more possesive. It was almost as though he wanted to capture John in his touches.
> 
> The most shocking part is, John wanted him too.
> 
> John turned, a large grin on his face. He could already see the innocent look of affection on his best mates face.
> 
>  
> 
> "Fred! What are you-"
> 
> His heart stopped, almost literally.
> 
>  
> 
> It was a man, and definantly not Freddie. The man's eyes were blue, icy, and seemingly glazed over with what appeared to John as almost fever-like giddiness. He was actually plain looking, normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.
> 
>  
> 
> Except holding a ebony-black revolver in his hands was highly out of the ordinary.
> 
>  
> 
> Those eyes bore unto him, and John felt his bass slip out of his grip in total terror. It clattered to the ground, by John was dimly aware of it.
> 
>  
> 
> He was too busy trying to coax his brain into processing what was about to happen.
> 
>  
> 
> John didn't know how to react. He was paralysed, unable to move as he stared directly into the malicious eyes of the man before him, a gun trained on his chest.
> 
>  
> 
> 𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦, 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵.
> 
>  
> 
> As if his own moment of clarity wasn't enough, the whole crowd was screaming before him. They suddenly didn't sound happy.
> 
>  
> 
> They sounded scared.
> 
>  
> 
> 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
> 
>  
> 
> Dimly, John noticed the three of his friends staring at him in horror from across the stage. Freddie was already taking off, white sneakers flashing as he made a beeline for John.
> 
>  
> 
> 𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦! His inner voice shrilled.
> 
>  
> 
> The gun went off, and John felt the impact of the bullet tear through his breast-plate as though it were nothing.
> 
>  
> 
> John felt the million different drops of blood spurt from his body as he crumpled backwards.
> 
>  
> 
> John felt his impact with the wood paneling if the stage below him, driving what breath he had out of him.
> 
>  
> 
> Something warm ran down his front. Something hot to the touch when John instantly pressed a hand to his wound, eyes rolling back in agony.
> 
>  
> 
> The world started to spin, flashes of coloir slowly bleeding away as his mind slipped into a flase sense of time moving slowly.
> 
>  
> 
> 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥...
> 
>  
> 
> "John!" A voice screamed, blending in with the chorus of distant screams.
> 
> The man stared down at Johns form, eyes still glassy. Even when a bulky shape of a secutrity guard tackled him to the ground, voice raised yet garbled to John's ears, did he not tear his haze from John's.
> 
>  
> 
> He shuddered, feeling his strength slip from his muscles. John lay on his back, arms splayed at his side. He was curled into a fetal position, cheek pressed aginst the heated stage floor.
> 
>  
> 
> 𝘚𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦.
> 
> Blood, hot and crimson, started to pool around his head. He felt it trickling into every crack of his body, every nook of wood paneling from the stage.
> 
>  
> 
> John pressed his eyelids together, fending off the slowly rising feeling of panic. Everything hurt, bad.
> 
>  
> 
> He felt hands. Many sets, one pressing some sort of cloth into his chest.
> 
> 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬- 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴! John arched against the agonizing touch. He screamed, blood dribbling from his mouth. It left a copper taste behind, one that made his stomach do flips.
> 
>  
> 
> "Stop, your hurting him!" Cried a shaky voice. 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦.
> 
> John willed his eyes open, and almost immidieatly wished he hadn't. His friend was there, warm brown eyes owlishly wide with a distraught look. A crew memeber was pressing a white cloth, now stained blood red, up to the hole in his chest. Freddie was next to him. He was kneeling next to John, knees dipped in the red liquid that flowed effortlessly out of his body.
> 
> And he was sobbing.
> 
> Tears trailed down Freddies face as he crouched close to John, pressing his face into his bloody neck. Hot breath warmed John's cold body. He shivered.
> 
>  
> 
> It was freezing suddenly.
> 
> "D-Deaky...John..oh god!" Freddie shook against him, oddly strong compared to the weak bassist. John was dimly aware of all the other commotion. The heavy footfalls of EMT's approaching him. The sirens of an ambulance. The crew members and security dragging John's assaulter off the stage.
> 
>  
> 
> John felt the man's gaze on him, but he didnt not return it. His eyes were all for Freddie.
> 
>  
> 
> "W-W-wheres Bri.. n' Rog..?" John managed to rasp out, breaths coming in short gasps now. His chest seemed to be constricting on itself, the world spinning even faster around him.
> 
>  
> 
> "Right here, mate." Brian whispered, kneeling next to Freddie. Roger stood behind him. They were all sheet white, staring at John horror.
> 
> John suddenly felt faint. The backround noises were oddly muted, as though they were really not there. He went completely limp, spent after several minutes of clinging on to conciousness.
> 
>  
> 
> "....-o! No! John, y-you can't close your eyes yet, dear! Help is here. Help is here.." Freddie crooned, caressing John's face in his hand. His hand was warm, contrasting so sharply with his cold skin.
> 
> "M'tired, Fred..." He groaned, eyes rolling back.
> 
>  
> 
> He finally let go.
> 
>  
> 
> John was dimly aware of Freddie's cries, Brian's alarmed shouts, and Roger's dismayed face sinking into the back of his eyelids. All he felt was blackness surging around, finally everything went silent and peaceful.
> 
>  
> 
> 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.
> 
> It did not. It followed him into unconciousness.


	2. Is this the real life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up too a not-so real dream.
> 
> Or so it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, whats poppin' you guy's? I'm here for another chapter. Thank you so much for the wonderful comments you left me, and ill try to reply as much as possible. This is just about John's interactions with Queen during the making of their beautiful "Bohemian Rhapsody''. I know that first chapter was rushed, and I felt that I could do better (seeing that I wrote that at 3 AM XD)
> 
> Anyway's, thanks again.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> -Smits

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.

 

His whole body felt as though it were on fire, a wild rampaging fire that coursed through his nerves, chilled his veins, and numbed the tips of his fingers. His mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Blackness pressed on the back of his eyelids, and John was too sluggish and exhausted to even attempt to open them. Until, that is, a voice rang out.

 

"𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘢...  
𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯...  
𝘗𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥.."

 

John's eyes practically flew open.

 

He was laying on a cot, scratchy covers rubbing up against his bare legs. The room he was currently presiding in was freezing, a questionable oder hung in the air. It smelled like manure. Manure, with a hint of dust. John groaned, bringing his hands up to rub at his face tiredly.

 

𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵

 

He peered at his hands. They not longer shook with weakness, and the agony of his gunshot wound not longer present. John breathed out with relief. It was all but a bad dream. 

 

Smiling broadly, he swung his legs over the side and stood.

 

He promptly fell over, like a tipped cow. His collide with the floor dislodge a few dozen dust bunnies under the creaky bed.

 

"Omph!" He gasped out. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬?

 

From his place on the floor, John stared up. He was shaking again, feeling a foreboding sense of fear. Was it a bad dream? Was he really dying? Was he unconscious somewhere, lying in a hand-sanitizer smelling hospital room, tube after tube connected to his dying body with a heart monitor emitting the telltale 𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘦𝘦𝘦𝘱?

 

No, the only sound he heard was the distant piano keys chiming, and that beautiful voice singing a beautiful melody.

 

𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵! The bassist thought, shaking the dark thoughts from his head. A fluffy piece of hair fell into his face, and he hurriedly brushed it away. Staggering to his feet, John managed to take a few steps up the groaning staircase before finally realizing something.

 

"𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰..  
𝘎𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩..."

 

"Fred?" John mummered, hand reaching for the doorknob-

 

The door flew open itself, wind tussling his hair back into his face.

 

"John! Are you okay?" It was Roger, leaning in the doorway and peering down at John with concern. John took a step back.

 

"Erm..yeah."

 

"Good! I thought I heard something fall down here, and was worried that-"

 

"No no, I'm fine." He said hurriedly, cutting off the drummer. Roger blinked rapidly at him as John pushed past him.

 

''Oh, ok. Just..wanted to be sure." Roger mumbled, sounding a bit hurt. He felt a twinge of guilt, but now was not the time to start a never-ending conversation.

 

𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘢𝘮..

 

John made his way around, peering closely at everything. The house was familiar, that was for sure. The charming farm-like structure triggered a thought in the back of his head.

𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦..?

For the second time that day, John's heart stuttered.

A large window was in the kitchen, and past it, stretched acres of grassland. Fencing lined the borders, and the sun-kissed grass glowed almost a neon-ish green. A rooster sat on the far side, crowing crossly at the loud voice that dared rival it.

 

"𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘦..  
𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘐'𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭!"

 

A large void seemed to swallow John up. He gasped and stumbled backwards, the roaring in his ears rising in volume. 

 

𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥  
𝘰𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘩𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘩𝘨𝘰𝘥

 

"𝘐'𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥." John whispered, placing a trembling hand over his mouth. He felt sick.

 

"John? You okay, mate?"

 

The spun around, and craned his head to look up at Brian. The guitarist looked back down at the younger man, concern evident on his face, just like Roger's. He steadied the swaying John with a firm hand, long fingers almost seemingly webbing over his shoulder.

 

"Y-yes. Yes, I'm f-fine." John stuttered out, trying to gather his bearings. Is this what the afterlife was? Reliving the past?

 

"Deaky, your pale as a ghost. Are you sure?"

 

"Who's kale and toast?" 

 

John turned, dislodging Brian's tight grip from his shoulder and almost spewed right there.

 

It was Freddie, in all his handsome glory. Raven black hair bouncing gracefully onto his shoulders as he strode into the room, Roger was close behind. He stopped merely inches away from Brian and John. He looked at them inquisitively, brown eyes searching Johns very soul. His veins turned to ice.

 

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯, 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮.

 

"I think m'gonna be sick." John choked out, and darted away from the scene. He was aware of his band mates surprised questions, but did not turn back. He was holding back the bile that rose steadily up his throat, burning and nauseating. Another flashback attacked him, pressing down on his mind-

 

𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩. 𝘐𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩.

𝘏𝘦-

gagged, throwing himself into the tiny bathroom as fast as possible. The door slammed behind him, and Johns knee's buckled below him. The bassist managed to drag himself over to the toilet, before coughing up a lungful of god-knows-what. 

John stayed like that for awhile, crouched over the toilet, each heave of his stomach sending yet another tremble down his spine. Tears pricked his grey eyes, spilling down his cheeks in quiet sobs. 

 

"Deaky...are you okay in there?" came a quiet voice, muffled slightly by the door that barred him from the others. John couldn't find the strength to reply back, so he listened to the worried conversation that played out behind the wall.

 

"Should we-"

 

"Hold on, lemme open the door-"

 

"No no, give him his privacy-"

 

"Darling, our darling John could be dying in there-"

 

𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. John peeled his eyes open, and started to gag again. The water was clouded red.

 

He scrambled backwards, panting. His mouth held that coppery taste again.

 

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭?

 

He lifted his hand to his mouth, and traced the tip of hid finger to the corner of his lip. His finger came away red. 

 

"Again?" He mummered, pulse throbbing in his neck.

 

He sat there for a moment, staring back at his reflection in the mirror. The bassist's breath caught in his throat.

 

A disheveled looking man stared back at him, indeed paler than a ghost. His grey eyes were creased with worry, the expression seemingly unnatural on his face. Wavy-brown hair stuck to his sweaty temples, a thin trail of blood ran from the corner of the mans mouth, disappearing below his chin. He blinked back at John.

 

John looked ill.

 

𝘖𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥.

 

John, with a trembling hand, dragged his grey sleep-shirt down by its collar, and peered carefully at his chest. There was not a scratch on his bare skin, not even a scar of wear the bullet had torn through.

 

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨?

 

He let out a shaky breath, and stepped away from the mirror. Now was not the time to question his mind, he had bigger problems.

 

 

𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦?

 

"John..?" Brian said from the door. His voice was sharp, and urgent. John had no realized he went completely silent.

 

"I'm..fine."

 

Rogers high-pitched laugh came after that. It sounded forced. "Obviously not, mate. We hear you coughing up your lungs in there."

 

"Yes...must be something I ate."

 

John flushed the toilet without another word, destroying all evidence of his bloody bile. Taking a deep breath, he fixed himself a bit before opening the door. All three of his friends stood there. Freddie and Roger were looking cross, both sporting hands on their hips, meanwhile Brian was leaning in the doorway hazel eyes fixed pointedly on on John. His gaze was piercing, eagle-like. 

 

"Yeah. Something you ate, even though that was.. eight hours ago?"

 

John looked away.

 

Suddenly, a hand was on his forehead, and John flinched backwards. Despite himself, he flushed red. The hand belonged to Freddie, and he blinked when the bassist moved away from his touch. 

 

"Hmm. I don't know, dears. Deaky feels quite warm."

 

"Let me feel!" Roger hopped forward, and felt for himself. This time, John jumped away fully.

 

"Hey, quit it!" 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵?

 

"He does feel warm! Oh, John, you should go rest up. Fred want's us to start recording Bohemian Rhapsody as soon as possible!" Roger chided, looking at John with worry.

 

John froze. 𝘉𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘰𝘥𝘺? 𝘞𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰...

 

"What..what year is it?" He whispered, the pounding in his head returning yet again.

 

The other three looked at him as though he grew another set of heads.

"What do you mean, John?" Brian chuckled, smiling. As if John were joking.

 

"What year is it, Bri!"

 

"Oh dear, you must be sicker than we thought!" Freddie said in a fretful voice. He gripped John by the shoulders, and steered him towards the basement. John tried to squirm away, but Freddie only tightened his grip.

"Deaky, I know you are dedicated to the band, but you should really start taking care of yourself. I.. I get worried that you'll drive yourself crazy and become ill, like this for example." It was the singers turn to look away, fiddling with his hair a bit. 

 

John felt joy rush through him for a second. Freddie worried about him! But it was gone as soon as it came, replaced by the aching sense of fear.

 

"Fred, please-"

 

"No 'pleases', young man! Rest, and I'll have the others bring you anything you need!"

 

"What I 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 is for you to tell me what year it is!" Cried John as the singer drew the covers over him. They itched his skin.

 

Freddie's warm brown eyes were sympathetic as he reached for Johns head again. John didn't pull away, instead, he leaned into it.

 

"1975, dear."

 

𝘖𝘩

 

Freddie pulled back, than leaned forward again to place a light kiss on Johns temple. John shivered, from the shock of his answer or from the kiss, he did not know.

 

"Rest, my darling. You deserve it." With one last look at the bassist, Freddie pulled away. His eyes were unreadable in the dim lighting to the room.

 

𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘰! John screamed eternally. He wanted to yell, he wanted answers for 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴? It was terrifying him. He thought he was dead, the crazy man at the concert had shot him through the heart, in front of the whole world. In front of his friends, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

 

Screwing his eyes tight, the man willed himself to sleep, to wake him up from this dream-like nightmare. 

 

After awhile, he started to fade away into a fitful sleep, broken only by the concerned mummering of his bandmates and friends.

* * *

 

 

 What John did not know, though, that he was very-much alive, and fighting for his life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also, being this is my first piece, can somebody help me a bit? Is that blue borderline on the side supposed to be there? I was wondering if I can take that off. Comment down below some suggestions on how I can NOT be a noob XD))


End file.
